


So Cold

by philatos



Category: Berserk
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Emotional Hurt, Griff being sad, Griffith haters do not interact, Lack of Communication, M/M, Pining, Pre-Eclipse, Referenced Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, That's it my dudes just angst, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, this is really self indulgent im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 12:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philatos/pseuds/philatos
Summary: He watched, unmoving as Guts carefully brought his hand up, pressing a kiss to his wrist, the feeling of his lips jarring against his rough scarred skin.“I'm sorry,” he whispered, cradling his hand gently, not wanting to aggravate the barely healing tissue. “I’m so sorry.”





	So Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who rewatched the third movie yesterday and cried for like an hour? So, I fell back into GriffGuts hell for a bit cos omg I forgot how much I love this ship. It felt good to write about my boys again after so long. Tho LBR this fic is literally 99% Griffith cos I STILL LOVE HIM SO MUCH, FIGHT ME. 
> 
> A/N= this takes place sometime after Griff got tortured/rescued but before the eclipse 
> 
> Anyways, hope ya'll enjoy :D

_ Watching. Waiting. Listening. That was all he did now. That was all he could do. _

 

A slit of sunlight illuminated the dark wagon, tiny motes of dust dancing in the brightness. How long had it been since he’d been carried back into the light? Time held no meaning for him anymore, not since he was locked down below in the depths, with nothing but unending torture and the screams  and whispers which he soon realized came from inside his own head. He could still hear them, echoing amidst the hushed conversations Guts and Casca often had, thinking that he could neither hear nor understand them anymore.

 

That hurt more than any tool that had been used on him. 

 

The flaps of the wagon were opened, a tentative hand pushing them aside. Guts stepped in, a tankard in his hand. 

 

“It was getting quite hot,” he said, kneeling next to Griffith. “Thought you might want a drink.”

 

Managing the barest of nods, Griffith let Guts move him, eyes fixed on him the entire time. Fumbling a little, Guts managed to maneuver the cup to his lips despite the helmet, and tilted it so that the cool water slid past his cracked lips. Once the cup was drained, Guts put it aside before setting Griffith back down. His duty done, Griffith expected him to leave, unable to handle the heavy air, weighed down by guilt and unspoken words that will now remain so forever. But Guts didn’t move, his hand on Griffith’s own, fingers gently stroking the delicate skin there. He watched, unmoving as Guts carefully brought his hand up, pressing a kiss to his wrist, the feeling of his lips jarring against his rough scarred skin. 

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, cradling his hand gently, not wanting to aggravate the barely healing tissue. “I’m so sorry.” 

 

He'd said those exact words to him so many times in so many different ways, yet hearing them never truly got any easier. 

 

Griffith blinked slowly. His eyes, once so full of life and drive, were now almost expressionless most of the time, looking far off into the distance, as though gazing at his long lost dreams. 

 

But not now though. Now, all his attention was on the man kneeling before him. 

 

It was almost too cruel, he thought. Before, he'd have given almost anything to have Guts at his feet like this, fully attentive, feelings almost matching his own. And now he had it, but at what cost? His dream turned to dust, his body practically broken beyond repair. All he had left to cling onto with his torn and broken fingers was Guts. If he closed his eyes and ignored the pain that constantly tore through his shattered body, he could almost, just almost, taste the barest hint of the happiness he'd been denied.

 

He’d thought of it, imagined it so many times it almost seemed so real. There he was, finally the ruler of his own kingdom. The exhilaration of chasing his slippery dream had worn off, replaced by a sort of quiet contentment. 

 

Of course, the root of that contentment would have been the man beside him, his one constant in the midst of all the chaos that hounded him. In those dreams, Guts remained with him, supporting him, serving him. 

 

_ Loving him _

 

There had been one too many nights where he had awoken to stained and sticky sheets, the image of Guts above him burned onto the backs of his eyelids. The first time it happened, he'd shrugged it off as a one time thing, brought upon by a lack of those sorts of activities. But he could only fool himself for so long and the unrecognized realization loomed at the back of his mind like an unwanted visitor, growing larger and larger until he could do nothing but face it. 

 

However, even after that, nothing really changed did it? Guts still remained by his side, never moving farther away, but never moving closer either. While Griffith’s barely veiled ardor for the other man was no secret to the rest of the Hawks, who mostly accepted it as another quirk of their leader, Guts himself seemed oblivious. Griffith had lost count of the number of times he imagined putting an end to the games he insisted on playing with himself and simply spell out his affections as clearly as he could to the other man. Maybe then, things would be different. Maybe then, he would have seen that no, he wasn’t just a pebble in his path. He was more. So much more

 

But none of that mattered now. His feelings for Guts that once tore through him like fire, had long since been burnt to ashes, used as fuel to keep his mind alive during his time in the dungeon. Looking at him now, he felt nothing but bitterness. Even anger had long since left him.

  
  


It would be time to end it soon. His weakened state was too much to bear at this point. It was pitiful, really. The once proud leader of the unstoppable Hawks, gleaming in the sunlight, now reduced to this frail body that couldn’t even sit up without help. He couldn’t even look at himself without feeling like screaming, nothing but utter disgust clawing its way up his throat. Death would be a mercy, one that he readily dealt to other unfortunates during his days on the blood soaked battlefield. But Lady Fate was truly a cruel bitch, leaving him physically unable to deal himself the same fate when he needed it the most.

 

Maybe Guts would figure it out and ‘accidentally _ ’ _ leave a knife in the wagon, tilted at just the right angle for him to fall upon. Or maybe he’d do the deed himself if he somehow managed to ask it of him. He was a warrior, he’d understand better than anyone. 

 

“ _ After all _ ,” he thought, heart still numb amidst the tears falling from the man holding him. “ _ He owes me that much _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are appreciated and comments fuel me.
> 
>  
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @ [**griffith-did-nothing-wrong.tumblr.com**](http://griffith-did-nothing-wrong.tumblr.com/)<


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